I’m writing a lot these days. A lot. But I’m having trouble writing my share of the democracy book I’m doing with Jon Lebkowsky. It’s not that I can’t write but that with the Dean campaign having collapsed I am trying to be analytical without being hurtful, and the truth is going to hurt a lot of people. Yes, yes, I know the Dean campaign is still raising money, but that’s the last sighs of the politics of hope at work, and I don’t believe hope is a useful in politics.
Hope makes you sacrifice what you should do today to reap dreams delivered by others tomorrow. As Albert Camus said, “Freedom is nothing else but a chance to be better.” The future is in our hands now, there is no tomorrow other than the one we bring with us into the future.
Anyway, I’ve been having this dream for two nights. I am at a convention that feels like a trade show, but I have to carry my own small sort of European booth (these standalone plastic kiosks you see at European trade shows) on my back. It’s heavy and my mouth is dry—my mouth is always dry at trade shows because of the heavily processed air. I am looking around for where my booth should go, and I’m lost in this series of hallways. Everyone around me is sure that at this convention they are going to get laid. They keep saying to one another, “I am going to get laid at this convention, I’m sure of it.” And Arnold Schwarzeneggar is there, but an Arnold gone to seed, whose Armani suit fits him like Huey Long’s clothes did, over a fat stomach. He’s got heavy jowls and bags under his eyes, but he’s in a good mood, shouting “Will you look at all this pussy? Ja! Ja!” Arnold is slapping everyone on the back, cawing that everyone is going to get laid. “We’re all going to get laid! Ja!” Arnold shouts, slapping people on the back, as though this is a “rowdy movie set” and he’s somehow become governor of California in 1934 despite his poor English and slovenly appearance.
I put my booth down and go to look for the bathroom. Arnold follows me, pinching women on the ass and slapping men on the back. It’s morning in America, again, and we’re all going to get laid.
I find the bathroom. But Arnold is storming in, followed by crowds. I wonder where I left my booth, because I’ve got a book to promote. I realize that the bathroom stall is a voting booth.
That’s the dream I keep having.